Tanner- Year One Read online

  Although he was weak from lack of food and sleep, and drained from his effort to escape, Tanner summoned up the strength to work on the lock. With one end of the metal bar through the lock’s hasp, Tanner strained to use leverage to force the lock open. When he placed most of his bodyweight behind the bar, the lock popped open, then it tumbled down into the cell.

  The sudden release of tension caused Tanner to stumble. He caught himself before he could fall backwards to the ground. When he regained his balance and looked down into the cell, Pullo was staring up at him. The two men shared a grin before Tanner shoved aside the monitor and swung the gate back on its hinges.

  With a grunt of effort, Tanner helped Pullo out of the cell. The mafia soldier slapped him on the back before using Tanner to keep from falling over. Pullo’s time in the pit had left him weak and dehydrated. Tanner understood, as he was reaching the end of his own considerable vitality.

  When Pullo saw Tanner’s tunnel after climbing down, he marveled at the man’s ingenuity and determination.

  The gate they had entered through was west of their position, where cornfields were visible in the distance. There were vehicles there as well. They headed toward the gate while staying hidden among trees. They were so depleted that even walking was an effort, and the bright sun was hot on their bare backs.

  Along the way, they came upon an orchard where rows of apple and pear trees were growing. Images of Shasta Shah’s smiling face were everywhere inside the compound. In the orchard, flyers bearing the likeness of the “goddess” were stapled to the trees.

  The apples were small, green, and it would be several more weeks before they ripened, but the pears were near their peak. Tanner and Pullo ripped several from a tree and ate as they moved along.

  The sweet fruit tasted like ambrosia, equally pleasing was the fading sound of Shasta Shah’s voice, as they put distance between themselves and their former cells.

  “Did someone toss food down to you the other night, Joe?”

  Pullo answered, his voice sounding scratchy.

  “Yeah, it was a woman with a long braid.”

  “I wonder who she is.”

  “Why the hell did Logan lock us up inside the cult? Do you think they’re on to us?”

  “I think this was all Isaac’s doing. He seemed jealous the other night.”

  Pullo stopped walking. “This is because of Gracie?”

  “No, it’s because of Isaac, and Marcus and Miranda must take his orders.”

  “I’ll kill all of them.”

  “Not if I get to them first.”

  They reached a point where they could see the same cornfield they had been walking through when the drug had taken effect. They were able to ascertain this by its relation to Shah’s palace.

  Cutting through the cornfield would get them to the gate, but first, there was a strip of roadway they had to cross. It would leave them exposed but they had to risk it. They stepped on the road and both grunted as the heated surface stung their bare feet.

  They were halfway across when a woman stepped from the corn. She was about their age, and her dark hair was tied in a single long braid that hung down across her left shoulder. The gray pants and blouse she wore marked her as being one of the cultists. Tanner and Pullo stared at her, expecting her to cry out in shock or issue an alarm, instead, she smiled at them.

  It was Kate, and Tanner understood that he was looking at the angel of mercy who had dropped food through the bars of his cell.

  The sound of several female voices ended the silence as the cornstalks behind Kate were moved about. She stopped her staring, turned, and entered the corn again. As she delayed the other women by blocking their path and talking to them, Tanner and Pullo plunged into the cornfield a short distance away.

  While he’d been at the orchard eating pears, Miranda had been gaping at the hole in the ground Tanner had created with his tunneling. After yanking out her cell phone she cursed in frustration. There were no cell towers near enough to get a signal. Miranda ran toward a building the cultists called the old house. It was where Isaac was. Tanner and Pullo couldn’t be allowed to escape. If Logan found out what they’d done, it would be their asses.

  The voice of Shasta Shah filled the air as hidden speakers broadcast her message throughout the compound. In the cornfield, Tanner and Pullo halted their stride to listen.

  “There are infidels among us, my children. Two men who have yet to embrace the truth. They must be found before they can leave and spread lies and rumors. Find them! Stop them!”

  Pullo let out a curse and got moving again, with Tanner at his side. They reached the parking lot and found Marcus getting out of a pickup truck with a second man Tanner didn’t recognize. The new man was dressed like a cultist in gray, but his clothes were of a much darker shade. Marcus was armed with a handgun; however, the other man had an assault rifle slung over his back. There was also a truncheon hanging from his belt, it was similar to the billy clubs used by cops.

  Tanner and Pullo rushed forward and attacked the men. Tanner landed a solid punch to Marcus’ face that sent shivers of agony radiating throughout his own fingers. Tanner’s hands had suffered while he had used them to dig the tunnel. The blow had injured him more than it had Marcus. It had been a weaker punch than normal as well.

  Because of his weariness. Pullo was having trouble with his man too. They struggled as Pullo tried to get behind the wheel of the vehicle. If they could take possession of the truck they could ram through the wooden gate and regain their freedom.

  A kick to Marcus’ knee injured the man and sent him to the pavement. Tanner delivered a second kick to the militia member’s head. It rendered Marcus senseless and injured Tanner’s big toe. He was still barefoot, and the heated pavement of the parking lot was searing the soles of his feet.

  Pullo had managed to trip the man he’d been struggling with for control of the truck. Afterward, he stomped on his face, stunning him.

  Pullo slid behind the wheel as Tanner climbed into the passenger seat. Pullo started the engine. Before he could get the vehicle moving, his opponent recovered and made it to his feet, as blood dripped from his nose. The cultist reached inside the truck and yanked the keys from the ignition. Pullo kicked open his door to hit the man with it. The guy screamed in pain as a corner of the door opened a cut on his forehead. Pullo left the truck and delivered a furious combination of punches that drove the guy down. The keys left the man’s grasp, slid along the ground toward the curb, and dropped between the bars of a sewer grate.

  “Goddamnit!” Pullo shouted.

  “Get their guns,” Tanner said. “We’ll have to fight our way out of here.”

  Tanner claimed Marcus’ weapon from the dazed man as Pullo unarmed his opponent. Tanner was considering trying to hotwire the truck when several cult members stepped from the corn and headed toward them. They were four men and two women.

  The group was headed their way with alacrity until they spotted the guns. Indecision froze them for a moment, but then one of the women cried out in a shrill voice to alert their brethren.

  “They’re over here by the gate!”

  Behind the group, the corn appeared to be stirred by a strong breeze. However, the hot air was still; the movement had been caused by bodies. Within moments twenty-three more gray-clad cultists stepped from the corn, the fervency in their eyes was the gaze of a predator.

  When the group took a step forward as one, Tanner placed a bullet in the shoulder of the nearest man. He had aimed carefully and managed to nick the outer portion of the cultist’s right deltoid muscle. Cries of shock and disbelief went through the crowd and drowned out the scream of the wounded man.

  “Let’s go,” Tanner said.

  Pullo followed as Tanner ran along the edge of the cornfield, in an attempt to stay near the fence. They needed to get over that barrier and across the road, then lose themselves in the woods. First, distance had to be attained between themselves and their pursuers. If not, they might be
dragged downed as they attempted to climb the twelve-foot-high fence.

  Simply running was an effort, as what was left of their strength was dwindling rapidly. Tanner figured they were operating on sheer adrenalin. Behind them, the cultists followed, while keeping back a respectful distance.

  After rounding a bend, Tanner spotted a group of buildings painted in brilliant colors of red, green, orange, and blue. Atop each one was a huge picture of Shasta Shah. Tanner was pondering the buildings’ purpose when a form shot out from the corn and slammed into his side. After stumbling, Tanner went to smash an elbow at his attacker, then paused in mid-movement. It was a child, a boy of no more than eight.

  More children appeared. They were of both sexes and ranged in age from four to thirteen. They swarmed toward them, and unlike their adult counterparts, they had no fear of the guns. That would have changed if Tanner shot one of them. He didn’t consider that to be an option.

  Instead, he fired once into the air. Pullo did the same, while releasing a three-round burst from the rifle. The kids slowed dramatically, all but one that is. He was a boy of twelve who wore a devilish grin. He headed for Pullo with his head down and rammed into the mobster.

  Tanner watched as Pullo lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. More boys came. Tanner leveled his gun at them, intending to wound one. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. The way the boys were rushing forward, there was no chance to take careful aim and deliver a wound to the outer edge of a shoulder or thigh. Any shot he took might end a child’s life.

  As Pullo made it to his feet, Tanner saw his companion come to the same conclusion. The mafia member raised his gun, only to lower it.

  “They’re just kids, damn it,” Pullo said in frustration.

  Avoiding the use of their guns, they did their best to bat away the children and keep moving. Before long, they had a child clinging to each of their legs. Tiny fingers clawed at their bare torsos as small bodies sought to overpower them, like a pack of hyenas bringing down two lions. And down they went, as the sheer weight of the group drove them to their knees.

  Then, the parents joined in. A muscular arm snaked across Tanner’s throat as two sets of hands wrenched his wrists behind his back. He fought on, but in his weakened condition, he was no match. For the second time in three days Tanner found himself at the mercy of others.

  His wrists and ankles were bound with cloth, and soon his face was covered by a hood fashioned from a T-shirt. Before the hood was slipped on, Tanner heard Shasta Shah’s voice come over the speakers again. She was congratulating her flock for “Stopping the infidels.”

  Tanner wanted to strangle the bitch with his bare hands.

  15

  Proof

  Gracie’s search for proof of Isaac’s deviousness took her back to the motel where Tanner and Pullo had been staying.

  A maid told her that she had seen the men leave the parking lot while following behind a vehicle that sounded like Isaac’s red Chevy Tahoe. By flirting with the manager on duty, a middle-age man with a bad comb over, Gracie was allowed to see videotape of the parking lot taken that day. The camera recorded what the maid recalled and showed Joe driving behind Isaac’s Tahoe as they exited the motel parking lot.

  The manager told Gracie he would make her a copy of the tape, then discovered he had no extra blank ones available. A quick trip to a nearby store rectified that and Gracie left the motel with what she believed was proof. Then again, she knew that Isaac could always claim that he had separated from Joe and Tanner after leaving the camera’s range.

  As she was wondering what other proof she could gather, evidence of Isaac’s scheming drove past her on the road, going the other way.

  Gracie was nearing the end of the narrow road that led to the fork you had to take to reach the militia’s base. If one went left, the route dead-ended at the militia, head right down the fork and you would reach the cult’s compound.

  The flat-bed truck that passed Gracie had emerged from the right, which meant it came from the cult’s compound. On the back of the truck was a vehicle that Gracie was certain looked like Pullo’s car. It also had Connecticut plates as Pullo’s had.

  After making a K-Turn, Gracie went in pursuit and flagged down the driver by flashing her headlights. The name on the side of the truck was T.J.’s Used Car Sales. The driver stopped and lowered his window. He was a young guy, skinny, with long dirty-blond hair.

  Gracie got out of her car and studied the vehicle sitting atop the flat-bed. When she saw the dent in the front fender of the dark-blue car she knew it was Pullo’s. Gracie had leaned back against the car the other night as she and Pullo kissed goodbye. She remembered running her hand along the contours of the indentation.

  When the driver saw Gracie’s pretty face, he smiled as he looked her over. “How can I help you, beautiful?”

  “You got this car from the cult, didn’t you?”

  “We get cars from the cult all the time. The crazy bastards who join up sign over everything they own.”

  “Place this car on the side when you return to your garage. The owner will be wanting it back.”

  The guy shook his head. “All sales are final.”

  “Just don’t get rid of it,” Gracie said, while taking a picture of the car with her phone.

  Before driving off, Gracie reiterated to the driver that he shouldn’t let the car go. Minutes later she was back on the militia’s grounds and headed to see Logan. She’d gotten the proof he’d wanted.

  Gracie met with Logan inside his office again. Logan wasn’t as enthusiastic about the evidence she’d gathered as Gracie thought he should be. He questioned her twice about the car she’d seen being towed away.

  “You’re certain that was Russo’s car?”

  “Absolutely, it’s Joe’s car.”

  “It could be a coincidence that it was the same make and model with Connecticut license plates.”

  “And the same dent in the same spot? I’m telling you, Logan, Isaac has Joe locked up inside that cult compound.”

  Logan left his chair and began pacing behind the desk.

  “If I go in there and we find nothing I’ll be the one in trouble. I’ll also be tipping my hand to Isaac.”

  “If I’m wrong, and I’m not, you can blame everything on me. Either way I’ll be going there.”

  “You wouldn’t be allowed in without me.”

  “I’d find a way. Joe is in there and God only knows what Isaac is doing to him.”

  Logan grinned, and Gracie noticed.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “There’s a reason I wanted Russo and Ray Hollis to join us so badly; it’s because those two have what it takes. I could see it in their eyes. As young as they are, they both have that same vibe you get from combat veterans. If Isaac has those men, he may not live to regret it.”

  “Or he may injure them. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

  Logan stared at her. “You’re absolutely certain that was Russo’s car you saw?”

  “As certain as I’ve ever been about anything.”

  Logan released a sigh as he reached for the phone on his desk. “We’ll be on the move soon. I want to gather some men together first.”

  Gracie grinned. “Yes!”

  “I suppose you’ll be coming along?”

  “Try and stop me.”

  “Bring a weapon; things may heat up.”

  “You’re not bringing Sullivan, are you? He and Isaac are friends.”

  “I’ll only bring along regular militia.”

  “Good, and I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes,” Gracie said, as she went off to arm herself.

  16

  A Bath And A Good Meal

  Despite the dangerous situation he was in, Tanner had fallen asleep after being locked alone inside a room. It had taken a while, with his wrists and ankles bound and his mind racing, but in the end, exhaustion won out.

  Even as he slept his brain birthed strategies of escape, and y
et, he was roused from deep sleep because someone was freeing him from his bonds.

  Tanner felt a small delicate hand touch his fingers as a pair of scissors was used to cut the cloth around his wrists. When his intense eyes met those of the young woman who had removed the restraint, her mouth formed into an O and she gasped.

  Tanner’s mouth parted in surprise as well. The women helping him, who were perhaps still girls, were beyond beautiful. Both were petite blondes with straight hair and eyes so blue they rivaled the sky. Slight breasts lent curves to the shapeless gray clothing they wore, and sympathy was alight in their gaze.

  “We were like you once,” said the other girl, the one freeing the cloth that bound Tanner’s ankles.

  Tanner tore his eyes away from the alluring creature kneeling beside him and studied her companion. She was almost a clone of the first girl but her white-blonde hair was shorter by several inches.

  Sisters, he thought, then asked a question. “How were you like me?”

  The girl smiled. “We thought we could find happiness in the world outside, but all we discovered was pain.”

  “And being in a cult makes you happy?”

  The girls laughed, then spoke as one, as if they had repeated their response a thousand times.

  “This isn’t a cult. We’re a community. Shasta Shah is our goddess and we are her people. Someday, the whole world will worship Shasta Shah.”

  “Count me out,” Tanner said. He made it to his feet then had to fight to maintain his balance. Despite the hours of sleep he’d had, he was still weary. The restraints had numbed his hands and feet, and they were cut and blistered as well. Multiple bruises ached, and scratches covered his torso and arms. They were the tiny wounds made by the small hands of the children who had been his downfall.